Agent Santa Claus
by Nikki-9-Doors
Summary: When Gideon, returned to DC without his sought-after belief in happy endings, begins to answer children's Santa Claus letters, will he finally get the Christmas miracle he deserves?
1. Chapter 1

_~~~ There's a month to go until Christmas, so here is the beginings of my Christmas fic. It's an idea I've been playing with, and although I was initially going to do it with Elle, instead I decided to let Gideon take the lead. Hope you enjoy :) ~~~_

* * *

**_Alas! How dreary would be the world if there was no Santa Claus!... There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. ~ Francis Church_**

The girl from the post office had arrived again. She held out the brown paper package and the electronic pad so he could sign for it.

He did, with a bored disposition. His name - Jason Gideon - barely discernible as anything more than a fancy scribble.

On most days, their interaction didn't go anywhere past, "Delivery," "Thank you," "Have a good day, sir," "You too." But today, the girl changed their usual dialogue to include, "Don't you get cold?"

She was referring to the fact that it was approaching Christmas and Jason Gideon, former FBI profiler extraordinaire, was playing chess outside on his porch. It was not the first time. In fact, every time the girl from the post office delivered a package to his home, the porch and the chessboard was where she found him.

In truth, the porch's rooftop stopped the snow from falling on him and the wall of his house protected him from most of the frosty wind. But what cold weather did get to Gideon didn't bother him. Ever since Frank, he had acquired an aversion to heat, for it reminded him of the hot Arizona desert where they'd first encountered the man Gideon could think of as no less than a monster.

"Only a little bit," Gideon replied now. And gesturing to the chessboard he asked, "Would you like to play?"

"No thanks," answered the girl, "I have to get through all the deliveries. My dad's the manager so, he'd be pretty pissed if I didn't get it done. I'd get fired _and_ grounded."

Gideon chuckled. She looked young. He wouldn't have even put her at sixteen if it wasn't for the fact that she drove one of the big red post office trucks to his house nearly every week.

He knew what was in the package. It was a ShamWow. His newest hobby was watching the infomercials and ordering from them. He'd encountered a man in Seattle who swore there was nothing more fun, and although Gideon had only meant to try it once, he found now that there was something exciting about it. Of course more than half the things he ordered broke within the month, but he had managed to pick up a couple of make-your-life-easier-by-making-it-more-complicated gems.

It wasn't a belief in happy endings. He'd ended that search. Travelled all across America, only to find that where he truly wanted to be was back in Washington DC and so, that's where he was now.

"Although," the girl considered, still not moving off the porch despite the fact that the big red post office truck was rumbling, the keys in the ignition, she only having anticipated making a quick stop, "You always are stuck playing alone, aren't you?"

"The best way to improve strategy," Gideon told her, the same way he would have told Hotch or Reid or Morgan that the serial killer they were tracking had so far murdered only blondes.

And in much the same way one of his former coworkers might have pointed out that perhaps a former girlfriend was blonde, the post office girl answered, "Improving strategy is pointless if you only play yourself."

"Touché," Gideon agreed, with another chuckle. It was too bad he wouldn't get a game of chess out of her - and he wondered to himself if she even knew how to play - but at least he'd gotten some amusement and his delivery.

The girl nodded once and made her way down the steps, but then she stopped halfway and asked slowly (Gideon, although he knew he shouldn't, couldn't help but put his retired profiling skills in action to think that she was a girl who was typically quiet and polite), "Why don't you ever have anyone to play against?"

Gideon pursed his lips, thought and shrugged, "There is nobody for me to play against."

"Well," the girl pushed her hip out to the side, balancing most of her weight on one leg, as though she were getting comfortable on the porch steps, "Why don't you meet people?"

"I'm retired," Gideon said, even though it wasn't fully true. He hadn't retired so much as gone AWOL. "I have no family, no friends," - although this was his own fault, he realized, and no one else's - "where could I meet people?"

But at this enquiry a successful grin broke over the girl's face, and it was obvious to him that she had an answer. "At the post office!"

He tipped his head to the side a moment, considering before repeating her words: "The post office?"

"Yes," she nodded, "It's four and a half weeks to Christmas and we need people to answer the kids' letters."

"Their letters to Santa Claus?" Gideon inquired.

The girl smirked, "Well, he can't answer every one himself, you know. You'd just be…an elf."

"I could do that?"

"Sure," she shrugged, "I mean I used to do that, once I figured out that there was no Santa Claus, and before I wanted to get paid."

Gideon said thoughtfully, "I can volunteer?"

"Totally," assured the girl, "I'll put in a good word for you. My dad's the manager. There's just this form you have to fill out and stuff - to make sure you're not a creeper."

Mentally, Gideon corrected her use of the word 'creeper' to replace it with 'pedophile'. He snorted a bit at the thought of filling out a form which no doubt asked about current or past occupation, and imagined the reactions which would ensue when he answered with FBI.

"Maybe I will," Gideon said, not unsurely, "I'll drop by the post office tomorrow."

"No problem," the girl answered, "See you then. My name's Sabine Murphy. Just ask for B."

Then with a parting wave, she left the steps and got back in her red truck, rumbling off. Gideon looked down at the package in his hand, thought of answering Santa Claus letters and tried to remember what it had felt like to believe in that fairy tale.

And as much as he wanted to tell himself that he did remember, it was really such a long time ago that all he could conjure up was the faintest recollection of smelling cinnamon and peppermint and sitting on the knee of a man dressed in red.


	2. Chapter 2

_~~~ I have all the chapters written out, and my plan is to post one each week until Christmas. Hope they're to your liking. Thank you for the favourites. Please review! :) ~~~_

* * *

The last post office Gideon had been in did not exist on its own - it had resided at the back end of a drug mart - but this one had a building all to itself, and as Gideon entered a bell jangled above the door.

The area was small, there were shelves with bubble-wrap, delivery boxes, and specialty envelopes. The current price for stamps was written on a sign above a desk, and there was a special section advertising collector stamps and coins.

Gideon approached the desk and introduced himself to the middle-aged woman who sat behind it. "I'm Jason Gideon," he said, "I'm looking for a girl named Sabine Murphy. I was told to ask for B."

The woman looked up without too much interest. Her nametag read _Bess_ and the bags under her eyes told of sleepless nights. She managed a smile however and pushed herself out of the chair, taking a few quick steps over to open a door behind her and shout, "Is Ms. Murphy back there?"

The replies were in the negative, but suddenly the bell above the post office door gave another jangle as Sabine came flying through. "Sorry, sorry," she apologised breathlessly, "I was just about to make some deliveries, but I thought I recognized your car in the parking lot." she gave a sheepish grin, "A white Acura. It's nice. My uncle used to have one just like it."

Another smile slipped onto Gideon's face. The car he had picked up after returning to DC and deciding the one he'd used to drive cross-country in was just too beat up to continue using any longer. He'd chosen it because the model wasn't selling well, and he'd had some inexplicable urge to up its numbers. Maybe he'd just felt bad for it.

Now with long strides Sabine approached the desk and leaned against it, going up on her tip toes in order to see over and look Bess in the eye.

"Bess," she informed her, "This man here wants to help answer Santa Claus letters. You think you could screen him?"

Bess took a deep breath as though Sabine often made her life harder. "Ms. Murphy," she replied, "You know I don't have the authority to do that. It has to go through your father."

"I know you have the _forms_," Sabine insisted, "We could at least get _started_." she turned to Gideon, "I didn't ask Dad yet," she sounded apologetic, "I didn't know if you'd come."

"It's fine, fine," Gideon murmured. He noticed a clock on the wall and saw with relief it was still only just after one. He was careful not to go certain places during certain times - he didn't want to run into his former friends/coworkers - but one o' clock meant they would still be at work. If they were even in town at all.

Bess opened and shut a door and handed a sheaf of papers to Sabine, who passed them on to Gideon. "Just fill those out," she instructed, "No rush."

"Ms. Murphy," Bess spoke up, holding out a pen, "He'll need this."

Sabine blushed and passed the pen on, too.

Gideon settled down in one of the chairs lined against the wall and began to fill out the questions. He chuckled to himself. Volunteering to answer kids' letters was every bit as tricky as attempting to tour the inner workings of the Pentagon. He supposed he should be glad that the US Postal Services made sure to protect the children. But they shouldn't have to protect them in the first place. Santa Claus letters were sweet, innocent…who could ever try to make them about anything else?

These were the questions that haunted Gideon. The monsters. The things he knew but didn't want to know about anymore. These were the things which shot holes in his happy endings.

Finally completing the questionnaire and all necessary information, Gideon returned the sheets to Sabine, who glanced at them quickly. "Great," she said, "Thanks." A timid smile before adding, "Do you prefer Jason, or Mr. Gideon?"

He bit back his automatic response of, "It's Agent Gideon, not mister," and replied, "Jason's fine."

Sabine nodded, then clutching the sheets to her chest she walked behind the desk, told him and Bess she'd be back, "in a sec," then disappeared through the door which lead, Gideon could only assume, to a bigger space with offices and an area where all the daily post office work went down.

"So," Bess spoke up, "How long have you been retired for?"

"Almost four years," Gideon told her.

Half of her mouth turned up in a smile, "Yeah," she said, "That's about how much longer I've got to go until I can retire myself."

"You work here all your life?" Gideon asked.

"Since I was eighteen. Not much older than Ms. Murphy back then," and now the other half of her mouth lifted up into a smile, "Of course, she won't be stuck here all her life like I was. She's a smart girl. She'll be going to university for sure."

Bess began to organize things on the desk and Gideon commented, "If only we listened to our parents." He was thinking of how much his mother opposed him turning to law enforcement. She thought it was too dangerous, and too demanding.

"Got that right," Bess agreed, "Shouldn't have married as young as I did. Should have kept up with school." but she shrugged, "What's done is done."

Gideon nodded. Clearly Bess could live with her life, no matter how unrewarding her career. But he, who had had what was debatably a most rewarding career, could not live with himself at all, to the point where it was only himself with whom he lived.

He was a solitary man.

As Sabine returned and told him to follow her, her dad could do a quick interview right now, Gideon wondered if Santa Claus, up in the North Pole, was a solitary man too.

But then he remembered the elves, the reindeer, and Mrs. Claus, not to mention the thousands of children worldwide who adored him, and knew that it wasn't so.


	3. Chapter 3

_~~~ Gideon gets his first letter. Enjoyy. ~~~_

* * *

Exactly one week later and Gideon's phone rang. He didn't get to it in time so it went to his voicemail.

"Hello Mr. Gideon, this is Loretta from US Postal Services, we have received our first batch of Santa Clause letters for the season and you can pick them up anytime between ten AM and five PM today or tomorrow. Thank you once again for volunteering. Merry Christmas!"

Gideon stirred some milk into his coffee and thought about reading and replying to Santa Claus letters. What would he say?

But of course he had some idea of what he would say, because after passing the interview with Mr. Murphy, he had been briefed on the how-to of letter answering. Be nice. Promise gifts, but not _specific_ gifts. Don't include religion. Always wish a Merry Christmas. Mention Rudolph. Tell them they had been a good boy or girl and remind them to leave out cookies and hang up stockings. Most importantly, include their name at the beginning. Children, apparently, went wild for that.

However Gideon was not a writer. It was the reason he'd never penned books about his days in the BAU. It was the reason he hadn't purchased a special word program for his computer, and why his printing was scarcely legible. Lack of practice.

Gideon got in his car and made his way to the post office. Bess was behind the desk again, recognized him and handed over a plastic bag full of letters. There was no sign of Sabine, and he was in and out in less than five minutes.

Back home, Gideon tipped the plastic bag out over his kitchen table. Letters scattered across the surface. They had already been removed of their envelopes. Being only an approved volunteer, and not a trusted employee, Gideon was not permitted to know the addresses where the letters had been posted from or the last names of the children who had sent them.

He made himself a slice of toast with marmalade and settled down at his table, clearing an empty space and setting the holiday-themed pad of paper issued to him from the US Postal Services in front of him. His response was to be a minimum of one page, a maximum of two.

He pulled the first letter towards him and after decoding the misspellings and scribbled writing, what he managed to make out was this:

_Dear Santa Claus,_

_How is the North Pole? How about Mrs. Claus? Are the elves behaving or are they fighting? I know my sister and I fight a lot and we are sorry. If you please wouldn't mind what I would like for Christmas please is this please:_

_The holiday Barbie (the brown haired one or blonde haired one I can't decide so you choose)_

_The bunny rabbit My Little PetShop with the yellow bunny house_

_Purple shoes that flash when I run_

_Emily Osmet's new CD (even though it came out a couple months ago I don't have it yet so it is still kind of new but I forget the name of it I'm sorry but I don't have any of her CDs so it wouldn't matter which one I get)_

_New socks! Really warm and colourful ones that go up to my knees_

_The toothbrush that I can decorate and put stickers on myself_

_Any PollyPocket doll I don't have already_

_Mommy says I should only ask you for ten things because if I get ten gifts from you and ten gifts from everybody else I will have lots and lots and lots of gifts. But I think my next ask is worth three asks so can I please have a kitten? I really REALLY want a kitten with orange fur and I would name her Marmalade._

Gideon looked down at the piece of toast he held in his hand and chuckled. What a coincidence.

_So that is all and I hope it is not too much. I will leave you out Oreo cookies because that it what you eat on the commercial and also milk. The milk will be colourful because Jessie likes putting food colour in it but I promise it tastes the same even though I didn't believe her when she said that at first because it looks weird. Then we got in a fight but like I said we are sorry about that._

_Also I'll put some carrots out for the reindeer. I hope it is not so foggy you need Rudolph but I also like Rudolph so maybe you could bring him anyway. Merry Christmas Santa! And thank you!_

_Love, Rosie_

Gideon took a deep breath. Finishing the letter was like coming up from a long swim and desperately needing air. He felt a huge desire to track down Rosie and give her everything she had asked for. The knee socks, the CD, the kitten with orange fur. But he couldn't do that. All he could do was reply.

_Dear Rosie,_

What? Dear Rosie, what?

As Gideon popped the last piece of toast in his mouth, his phone rang. He jumped up to answer it, wondering who it could possibly be, and the voice on the other end surprised him.

"Dad?"

"Steven!" Gideon exclaimed. His son, now thirty, called him more often than he had five years ago but still not as often as a normal father-son relationship would require. The last time Gideon had heard from him was seven months ago, when he reported that he was eloping with his girlfriend in Italy. Apparently she didn't like making a big deal of things so there were to be no guests, but Steven had thought his father should know. Gideon had sent them a gift.

"Yeah," Steven replied, with a small unsure laugh, "Hi. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Not at all," Gideon answered. He could feel himself getting flustered - his son was probably the only person who could still evoke that emotion from him - and he sat back down at the table.

"Well," Steven said, "I might as well get straight to the point, then. Marissa and I were wondering if you wanted to come stay at our place for Christmas."

"Your place, your place," Gideon repeated to himself, "Where is that again?"

"Pennsylvania, Dad," Steven answered patiently, "Not that far away."

"No, right, I knew that," Gideon promised, "I meant the city."

"Allentown," Steven answered, "You think you can make it?"

"Absolutely," Gideon found himself nodding despite the fact that he knew his son couldn't see, "Just give me the dates and I'll be there."

"Marissa's brothers are coming too," Steven said, "So we just have to figure things out with them, and then I can tell you more. I just wanted to know if you were available."

"I'm always available." Gideon replied.

"Of course," Steven conceded, a bit sadly, _"Now."_

Gideon winced, although he supposed he deserved it. He hadn't been around enough for his son. The job had made sure of that. But he had to check…

"Steven," Gideon asked, although it wasn't so much a question as it was a plea, "You did have good Christmases when you were a child, didn't you? Did I manage to at least give you that?"

And Steven's voice softened as he answered, "Yes, Dad. You did give me that. I always had the best Christmases."

Then the phone clicked and the line went dead, and Gideon looked down at the letter and knew just how to respond.

_Dear Rosie,_

_Don't worry about fighting with your sister. You two are at the very top of my 'Nice' list…_


	4. Chapter 4

_~~~ One month until Christmas! Fifteen school days! Thank youuu for reviews, alerts, and favourites. Enjoy. :) ~~~_

* * *

It wasn't until the third day of sorting through letters that Gideon received a shock. It was a letter from a young boy, and as Gideon had now gotten to know the spelling and the writing in accordance to approximate age, he thought the boy must be about six.

_Hi Agent Santa Claus,_

That was what got Gideon. What sort of child grew accustomed to addressing people not as "Mr." or "Mrs." but "Agent"?

But of course, he knew exactly what sort of child.

_This is what I would like for Christmas: a Nerf gun, a Nerf sword, HotWheels SpeedRacers, a new hockey stick, new hockey skates, a Spiderman lunchbox, the dinosaur Lego that moves, an Ironman mask, and new Wii games._

_Your sleigh goes through the sky. Mommy went to heaven a while ago. Heaven is in the sky, and I can't take a Christmas gift to her, so will you? Daddy and I buy her perfume every year, she will like that if you take her that. Her name is Hailey Hotchner. Her hair was dye brown but Daddy caught the bad guy so it will be blonde again. Mommy is an angel. _

_I would like all that for Christmas Santa thank you._

_Love Jack_

For a very long time, Gideon sat at his table in stunned silence. He did not move. He did not think. He just looked down at the letter he had finished reading, and looked down and looked down. He could not force himself to react in any different way. Then finally he shut his eyes, and when he opened them again it was to a blurred scene as tears welled and fell down his face.

He had not read of Hailey's death. He supposed it would have been in all the newspapers and on the stations for a considerable amount of time, but he had only just returned to DC over the summer and her murder had not been big enough to cross state-lines.

That was even assuming it was a murder. But somehow, Gideon couldn't imagine the death of Hotch's ex-wife as occurring to anything but. Cancer…a car accident…plausible, and certainly more common than murder, but murder had been the first conclusion Gideon's mind had come to and that alone told him it must be the truth.

A voice in his mind told him the proper thing to do was find Hotch and offer his support. Deep down, he knew he was aching to come in contact with his old team again – he was just too cowardly to. Afraid they would not have missed him, afraid they would no longer like him, afraid to face them without having found what it was he had left to look for. But he had endless quantities of time, a thing which he knew Hotch would not have, and it was not too hard to imagine babysitting Jack, and imagine that Hotch would be deeply appreciative if he did.

Still, Gideon's consideration of such a thing was quickly cut short as an unexpected flash of anger exploded in him. He stood up on the spot and nearly knocked over the chair with his suddenness. Jack Hotchner's letter was in his hand and he nearly tore it to pieces before he caught himself and, calming down, placed the paper back where it had come from, the only indication of his actions from seconds earlier being a slight crumpling of the page.

He could not destroy the child's letter. It, like all the others, had been counted and written down in some ledger somewhere and had to be returned to the US Postal Services. Furthermore, ripping the Christmas request to shreds would not get rid of the pain Hotch and Jack had suffered, and which Gideon felt now. Hailey was dead, and although that struck Gideon as deep as it had anyone else on the BAU team, he had a duty now.

And that duty was to reply as jolly ol' Saint Nick.

[XYZ]

"Good afternoon, Jason."

Gideon nodded without looking up from his chessboard, "G'afternoon, B." he muttered. Although he thought the nickname "B" a little silly when it came from the name "Sabine" (a name he held in highest regard as it had been, interestingly enough, his grandmother's), the girl seemed to prefer it and it was better than calling her "Ms. Murphy" as Bess at the post office had done.

Sabine extended her arm so he could first sign, and then take his package. He wasn't sure quite what it was this time. He was awaiting two orders – a Magic Bullet, and a small container of purple Floam. The last sack of letters had kept him up until midnight writing replies, and that's when the classic infomercials had come on and he just couldn't help but allow himself more than one TV product. After all, he was working harder than he had in ages.

And the writing was work, despite the fact that he had very much come to enjoy it. Children of all ages wrote to him, some included drawings, there were extremely polite children (usually girls) and others more demanding (the boys). A few couldn't spell or print neatly at all, while the skills of others blew him away, and what surprised him the most (besides receiving Jack's letter, of course) was when the adults wrote, adults who knew there was no Santa Claus and yet who felt the need to write him anyway. They spoke of the magic of Christmas, they asked for one special wish and nothing else. They asked for Christmas miracles, for their dying mothers to be made better or for their conception troubles cured.

It had not occurred to him that some adults could still find it in themselves to believe.

Today he had given himself the day off and gone back to playing chess. But it was colder than ever before, and he was considering moving back inside. Sabine was cloaked in a scarf, mitts, and earmuff.

"Two weeks to go," Sabine said brightly, "Do you have any plans for the holiday?"

Gideon breathed out and watched steam come from his lips. "I'm flying down to visit my son two days before Christmas, and spending it with him and his wife."

"Oh!" exclaimed Sabine, "Where does your son live?"

"Nowhere exciting," Gideon chuckled, who had learned from being around Sabine and chatting with Bess that the young girl was a dreamer first and foremost, "Just Pennsylvania."

"When I was little," Sabine smiled and blushed, "I used to think that was a made up place. Because the name had 'pencil' in it. I thought the school had made it up." Her blush grew deeper, and Gideon managed a kind smile. Sabine made her way back down the steps off the porch and returned to her red truck. She got in, waved, and drove off, the wheels squeaking against the grey slush on the road.

Gideon fumbled with the package until it opened and revealed to him was the colourful Floam in all its ridiculous, malleable glory. His fingers were numb, and he blew on them. He considered the chessboard, thought, _Checkmate,_ knocked over the ivory queen and then stood up on frigid legs. It was time to go back inside.


	5. Chapter 5

_~~~This chapter is a little shorter, sorry. Only 21 more days until Christmas! :) ~~~_

* * *

This letter was written by an adult but, unlike the ones which the adults wrote for themselves, this one was dictated by a child. Obviously, the woman's son was too young yet to scribe his own letters.

_I didn't know JJ had a son._

He's squashed the thought the moment he'd had it, told himself people's writing could often look the same and just because he'd wound up with a letter from the Hotchner household on his table didn't mean he was in any way about to get one from each member of the BAU. But nonetheless the thought was there, it would not die, and he held on to it the entire time he read the letter, to the point where he had to read it four times because he was so busy looking for clues that it was, indeed, JJ's hand.

_Dear Santa,_

_Merry Christmas. I want blue PlayDo please._

_Love Henry_

Yes. That was what Gideon had to look over four times. Those eleven words were all it had taken to convince him it was written by JJ.

There was a scribbled crayon picture, a red ball and a smaller white ball, which Gideon could only assume was meant to be Santa Clause and was the best that the young Henry could do when it came to both drawing and printing. Gideon figured the boy must be under three.

Since he had to keep in mind that the letter he wrote back would be read out to an easily-distracted toddler (or even, Gideon thought, a baby) he tried to keep it simple and especially child-friendly.

_Dear Henry,_

_My elves are very hard at work making toys for all the good girls and boys. You are far from my naughty list and there is a big pile of presents in the workshop just for you._

_Thank you for the drawing. It was so good that Mrs. Claus hung it up in our living room. The reindeer want you to draw one of them next. Rudolph's nose is glowing bright red with envy._

_It's really beginning to snow here in the North Pole! I have a big cup of hot chocolate every evening but am looking forward to enjoying cookies and milk. Please leave some out for me._

_Happy Holidays, Henry._

_Love, Santa_

Then Gideon looked down at what he'd written, at the beautiful fairytale image he'd managed to conjure up for the small child, and started in surprise. His other letters hadn't been nearly as sticky sweet as this one, and although he felt they'd gotten across the spirit of Christmas the reply to Henry did even more than that. It was everything the US Postal Services wanted from a volunteer Santa Claus. It was the type of response which would make a young child grin so widely that their face hurt, certain they were special because Santa had a big pile of presents just for them.

It was a _lie_. Fairytales were _lies_. And Gideon wondered if, in order to believe in happy endings, you had to believe in lies.

He sighed, ran a hand over his face, and decided to go for a walk.

[XYZ]

Gideon walked rather a considerable distance. He stopped recognizing things after a while and knew he'd gone quite a ways from home. He had thin gloves but his fingers were numb nonetheless, and his ears stung because he'd forgotten to don a hat.

Strangely, things began to appear familiar after a while, although he was at a loss to explain why. He continued walking, not sure where he was or where he was going, but driven by the fact that he had no one to report to, and nothing to do besides continue walking. Soon though he became too cold to go on and decided the wisest thing to do was duck into the nearest coffee shop, grab a hot drink and hail a cab to take him home.

A Starbucks appeared in the distance and Gideon set his sights on it despite the fact that he'd always felt it overpriced and not anywhere near as good as the franchise, and the throngs of people who mobbed it, would have one believe. But he was now too cold to be picky and as he approached he pulled open the doors with added vigour, so eager he was for inside warmth.

He could feel himself thaw out as he stood in line behind a grandmother with twin girls pulling faces at one another and a forty-something man chatting madly into an earpiece.

"Hi," he said when the barista's attention was turned to him, "I'd like a coffee please."

The barista, who looked to be in her mid-twenties, was pretty and her voice was friendly as she asked, "Would you like to try our peppermint latte?"

"No," Gideon replied bluntly, "Just plain coffee. Black." The girl's expression faltered and Gideon realized he'd been a bit snippy so he added, "And I'll take some of that, there." He gestured randomly at the pastry display and with her smile renewed the girl served him some sort of small cake with lots of red icing. Gideon chuckled a bit to himself, wondered what the world was coming to and what he'd gotten himself into, paid, took his coffee and the pastry and found himself a table.

The cake, although so sugary he could nearly feel his teeth rotting, was good and the coffee just what he'd needed. In fact Gideon was considering swiping one of the newspapers left behind on a nearby table and making himself comfortable when he suddenly saw a familiar figure tripping through the doors.

His heart seized as he pushed wildly at his shirtsleeve to reveal his watch. It was only two in the afternoon, and _what was Dr. Spencer Reid doing out of FBI headquarters?_

Doing his best to not be seen, Gideon sunk into his chair and realized why he'd begun to feel like he knew the area. He'd obviously wandered into Quantico, Virginia, which considering how close he lived to it could hardly count as a shock, but he felt betrayed by his subconscious mind nonetheless for leading him to such a vicinity.

Reid was speaking to the barista (awkwardly ordering, stumbling over words and spurting irrelevant facts was more apt a description if he was still anything like he had been when last he'd known him, thought Gideon) and Gideon sprung up from the table, creeping in a hopefully-sly way towards the other exit and pushing through the doors just as Reid turned…

Gideon spun around and began walking at a hasty speed. He reasoned that Reid had not had time to see his face, and tried to convince himself that there was no way the man he had once mentored could recognize him from behind, all these years later…

But still he walked quickly and he did not slow his pace until nearly fifteen minutes later when he finally called for a cab and tried to tell himself that reuniting with the team would not be a bad thing.

But he could come to believe it.

He could not buy in to lies.


	6. Chapter 6

_~~~ I don't know if I mentioned it yet, but for the sake of this story, JJ is still fully part of the BAU. Which is really how it should be, right?_

_Thanks so much for all your kind reviews! ~~~_

* * *

Jennifer Jareau's heels clicked on the tiled flooring as she approached the bullpen with a grin on her face and a letter in her hands.

"Guys!" she exclaimed, "Santa wrote back to Henry!"

"Really?" Emily Prentiss inquired, getting up from her desk to see, her own smile growing, "That's so cute."

Derek Morgan chuckled, "You two do know Santa Claus doesn't exist, right?"

"Actually," Spencer Reid piped, "The beginnings of the Santa Claus legend likely began with a real man from –"

"Not the time, Reid," said JJ, as Prentiss began to read the letter. To Prentiss she added, "Isn't it adorable?"

"Thousands of volunteers all around the country," Morgan spoke, "Wonder how many are potential child offenders?"

"Oh stop it," Prentiss scolded, handing the letter off to Reid. The moment he got sight of the writing on the inside his eyebrows sprang up and he looked to the assortment of team-members gathered around.

"What is it?" Morgan asked.

"This –" Reid began, paused, considered, and began again: "This is Gideon's writing."

"_Gideon?"_ JJ repeated incredulously.

"C'mon, Reid. What are the chances?" Prentiss pointed out.

"Really, kid. Gideon's somewhere off in the world. He'd not in DC, and he's not answering kids' Santa Claus letters. It's just a coincidence. And how could you possibly remember what Gideon's writing looks like?"

There was a pause as Prentiss, JJ, and Reid fixed Morgan with looks and silently answered, _Eidetic memory._

"Oh don't give me that," Morgan said, heeding their thoughts, "It's been too long. The man's been gone for years!"

But Reid continued to scrutinize the letter, and as he did so a memory from last week hit him. Having completed his fourth doctorate, his friends had congratulated him by leaving a size quadruple-D hot pink bra on his desk (a campaign he could only feel was spearheaded by Morgan) with a Starbucks gift card taped to the inside. Which was why when a caffeine craving hit and he found himself with no work to do, he'd passed by the staffroom coffee and instead made his way to the Starbucks only a couple of streets down.

There'd been a cute girl behind the counter who he'd blown his chances with after she tried to promote a peppermint latte and he'd responded by informing her of the approximate number of candy canes produced during the holiday season, and then when he'd turned round he had noticed an older man quickly leaving the store in such a manner that it was almost as though he was trying to leave especially quickly.

Reid had watched him go, feeling as though he should call after the man but not quite sure why, but as he thought on it now the more he was sure it had to have been Gideon. The way he held himself, the way his shoulders sat and the back of his head, with its graying and thinning hair, looked; yes, that must have been Gideon, and he must have noticed Reid and that's why he'd been in such a rush to escape the Starbucks.

"Spence," JJ murmured softly, "You really think Gideon wrote that?"

Reid looked up at JJ solemnly, and nodded.

"If Gideon wrote that, he'd have to be back in DC." Prentiss voiced.

Morgan shook his head, "As much as I don't believe it," he said, "I do know one surefire way to find out."

[XYZ]

"There you go, my darlings. There's your answer."

In Penelope Garcia's small, cluttered, multicoloured office the three profilers and their media liaison gathered around a computer screen and the information on it.

"He lives close by," Reid said, slack-jawed. Why would Gideon return to DC? Why would Gideon return to DC and not contact _any_ of them?

Unless he had. Reid backed away from the computer screen suddenly and announced: "I'm going to go find Hotch." He was out of the room before anyone could tell him not to.

"Well," JJ looked down at the letter in her hands and back up at the computer, which had not only spit forth Jason Gideon's current age and address but also a listing of US Postal Services volunteers, which he was on. "Well." she said again.

"I just can't see it. Gideon? Writing Christmas letters?" Morgan, possibly the biggest skeptic of them all, spoke up.

"He did manage to leave a fairly long-winded letter to Reid," Emily muttered, with only a touch of bitterness as she recalled how affronted Reid had been by the gesture and how she'd met with the worst of his bad attitude.

"And what was it he said in that letter?" Garcia tried to remind themselves and her, "Something about looking for a happy ending?"

"Santa's elf. How much happier does it get?" JJ agreed.

Morgan sighed. If he'd had hair, he would have run his hands through it in frustration. He didn't have the answers, he didn't know why Gideon was back in town or why he was volunteering with the post office, but he did know that if the man hadn't contacted them himself then there was no way he wanted to be contacted by any of _them_.

And he knew there was no way that would sit well with Reid.

Hell, it didn't sit well with _him_.

[XYZ]

"Santa Claus letters, Reid?"

Hotch sat behind his desk, one eyebrow up, but it was hard to appear menacing when Reid towered over the desk pushing a conviction that Gideon had returned as one of Santa's helpers.

"I'm telling you Hotch, it's true," Reid insisted, "He's on the list and the writing in the letter JJ got looks just like his."

Hotch thought of the letter which Jack had received, but decided not to say anything of that and the fact that he too had thought the writing looked suspiciously familiar. That his son was asking Santa for the magic sled to visit heaven was distressing enough for him, never mind whether or not an old friend who'd cracked and run away was finally back home.

"Reid," he said slowly and sternly, deliberating over his words, "If Gideon is writing the letters it has nothing to do with us. You can contact him if you wish but you have to remember that it's been a long time and he could have changed."

"Changed?" Reid asked, a little angrily, "_Changed?_ Hotch, he suffered a nervous breakdown, came back to the job, had his friend murdered in his own home and left with not a single person attempting to track him. I'd say if he has changed, it would only be to unattach himself from the BAU altogether."

"Exactly," Hotch said, "He might not want to hear from you. Or any of us."

Reid bit the inside of his cheek. "Then why would he return to DC?" he asked in a squeaking voice. The question was proposed to Hotch but already his own brain was working on finding the answer. The only conclusion he could come to was that Gideon missed the area, missed the work, missed the BAU.

Hotch watched Reid try to find the answer until eventually he told his youngest coworker, "I don't know Reid. I'm sorry."

Reid nodded and left his office, and it was only once he did that Hotch – with a sigh – picked up his phone and dialed zero.

"Yes, operator?" he asked, "I need the number for a man named Jason Gideon."

[XYZ]

Outside, Gideon loaded the bag full of Santa Claus response letters into his car and prepared to deliver them to the post office run by Sabine's father.

Inside, the phone rang. When nobody picked up, the answering machine kicked in, but no message was left.


	7. Chapter 7

_~~~ No more school! So close to Christmas! Only one more chapter after this and then the fic is done! :)_

_Thanks a billion for the reviews, reads, subsribes, and favourites! ~~~_

* * *

There was one week until Christmas.

In shopping malls, Santa Claus castles were set up and holiday music sprang from speaker systems. Schools were finally shut as children prepared for Christmas with their family. Houses were decorated with red-and-green wreaths and lights that blinked on and off. Grocery stores advertised turkeys and gingerbread houses. Snow fell every day.

Sabine came to Gideon's house one morning and knocked on the door. It was the first time she'd had to do so, but it had become too cold for him to play chess outdoors.

"I'm not expecting any packages," he told her when he answered.

"Yes, well," she replied, holding up the plastic bag full of letters that he'd become so used to, "I thought I'd deliver these myself. It's the last batch." She gave a shy, quirky smile and Gideon leaned thoughtfully against the doorframe. He wondered if her awkwardness came from having encountered him in his doorway, instead of at the chessboard, but he didn't think so. And he didn't think bringing over the final installment of Santa Claus correspondence accounted for her awkwardness, either. He wondered what did.

And then he found out, as she dipped in to the bag of letters to pull out a box wrapped in shiny gold paper and topped with a bow. "Merry Christmas," she murmured, her eyes downcast.

Gideon smiled. It was genuine, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. He hadn't been expecting a gift from Sabine, but he had bought one for her just in case. "Come in," he said now, and before she could tell him she was expected back he added: "If you had time to deliver letters that I usually pick up myself, you can come in for a coffee."

"Actually," she told him as she reluctantly entered, "I don't like coffee."

"Hot chocolate, then." He chuckled to himself. He knew that many teens drank coffee already, but he was glad Sabine didn't. She seemed so young to him, and the idea of her being a caffeine addict was wrong. He took the shiny gift from her and set it on the table nearby with a heartfelt thank you. Then he disappeared into one of the other rooms for a moment to fetch her gift, hitting to kettle on as he went.

For Sabine he had chosen a silver bracelet from Tiffany's. He'd removed it from the little blue bag because he knew she'd never accept it if she knew it's real worth, but he also knew she'd find out eventually – just hopefully, by the time she did figure it out, it'd be too late for her to not accept it. He'd had the money to spend and he'd wanted to give something to this simple, funny, kind girl who'd gotten him involved with the Santa Claus letters.

He also had another gift, for Bess, one he hoped she might enjoy without being insulted by it in some way. It was a subscription to _Chatelaine_, to pass the hours while she awaited her retirement. He'd gotten her address from 411 and would give the Christmas card of explanation to Sabine to pass along to her.

He returned to the kitchen, poured them their drinks and handed Sabine her gift. She blushed and tried to insist that she couldn't take it, but he just shook his head at her gently.

"The envelope is for Bess," he said, and she nodded.

They drank and talked and eventually Sabine said, "Jason, I think I have to tell you something."

"What is it?" he asked softly.

She folded and unfolded her hands, tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed. "You got the majority of the letters," she said, "I'm sorry. It wasn't fair to give you so many. But sometimes I'd read the replies before we sent them back, and yours were always the best." She shrugged, "Was it so bad?"

He wasn't upset. Or angry. He knew perhaps he should be, but he was not. "No, of course not," he replied, "It wasn't bad at all. I loved answering the letters." It made sense, then, getting two BAU letters, if he got more letters than anyone else.

"Well," Sabine smiled a little and gestured to the bag by their feet, "You still have probably a hundred to go."

Gideon smiled too. "B," he asked suddenly, "What ever happened to your uncle's white Acura?"

Sabine's face dropped a moment, "I'm surprised you remembered I even said that." She managed a faint shadow of her former smile, "He was my favourite uncle. But he died a couple years ago. In that white Acura, actually. Coming home on New Year's, a drunk driver hit him."

Gideon stared at Sabine a moment. "He was murdered." he said.

"I guess so." Sabine agreed, "Manslaughter. The guy got six years for it. He's still serving."

Gideon took a deep breath. He had seen murder for more than half his life. He had built his career on it. Without murder, there would be no BAU, perhaps no FBI, and certainly no need for men like he once was. He had seen murderers, and those who had narrowly escaped murder, and families shattered by murder. But right here was a girl whose favourite uncle was murdered by accident, and who was not shattered, but who instead drove a red post truck and brought gifts to a lonely old man who played chess on his front porch.

Gideon nodded slowly. Sabine finished the last of her hot chocolate, and Gideon said thank you.

"For what?" she asked, with a bit of a laugh in her voice.

"For the gift," he replied, "Merry Christmas." But he wasn't just referring to the gift wrapped in shining paper she'd produced for him earlier. He was referring to the gift of her company, and all that it had brought him.

She was smiling as she left, and he felt partially responsible for her smile, and felt something in him he hadn't felt in a while, something like happiness – not glee that came from irony or sarcasm, or a feeling that he should be joyous, but actual unadulterated happiness all on its own.

[XYZ]

The next day Gideon had not one, but two letters from members of the BAU laid out on his table.

One was a Santa Claus letter. The other was not. One was from Garcia, coded and creative, the other was from Reid, blunt and undisguised. He couldn't decide which one he liked more. In the end, all he knew was the he had the deepest feeling of yearning which could only be described as _missing them_. He missed the team so much. Not because they had been his coworkers, but because they had been his friends.

Garcia's began, like most of the others, with _Dear Santa Claus…_

_It'd be nice if you really were the man dressed all in red with the wicked-awesome long beard to go with, but you and I both know that's not true. You're probably some volunteer at your wit's end and with serious hand cramps. King-sized apologies my friend. Unfortunately most of the world does not coincide with my viewpoint, in that computers are our BFFLs, and many stick with the traditional way of correspondence, especially at Christmas._

_I just wanted to thank you so much for what you are doing. Answering Santa Clause letters makes children's dreams come true. It's a Christmas miracle for them. You should consider yourself a very admirable human being. They are harder to come by then you'd think. Trust me, I work in a field concerning very unadmirable people, but it's those who selflessly answer letters at Christmas that help me remember the world is a good place. _

_I knew a man once who forgot that. He left to go remember. I hope he has remembered, because he is missed. If there is a Santa Claus, and if you do have connections with him, do you think you could pull some strings, perform a Christmas miracle, and get him to show up at this stellar Christmas party I'll be throwing soon? Thanks a bundle._

_Ho ho, my lovely letter-receiving friend._

_Love, Penelope Garcia _

There was a chance that Garcia wrote every year thanking volunteers for their time and asking for his return, but Gideon thoughts of chance went out the window when he read Reid's letter and it was confirmed that the jig was up and his whereabouts were known.

_Gideon,_

_We know you're back in town. We know you're writing Santa Claus letters. Hotch told me to forget about it but I can't. You wrote me a letter once and it's time I write a reply. Garcia is having a Christmas party tomorrow night. I delivered this letter myself to be sure you got it. I can't be sure you've read it, but I want you to come to Garcia's tomorrow night around six. She still lives at the same place, and she's having a Christmas dinner. We'll all be there, and we all want you to come._

_Merry Christmas._

_Reid_

The letter had been wedged between the door and fluttered down to Gideon's feet when he'd opened it that morning. It had been early morning, and he'd wondered how Reid had visited without him noticing. He must have been up even earlier. All to leave a short little letter, missing an envelope, asking for him to make an appearance.

Gideon knew he had to respond to Garcia's. He didn't have to respond to Reid's. And he certainly didn't have to show up at the BAU Christmas get-together.

The problem was, Gideon kind of wanted to. And at the same time, he was kind of scared to. There was no reason to be scared. Reid had said in his letter they all wanted them there. But still, he had his insecurities, and they wouldn't leave him.

Gideon went over to his tiny Christmas tree, only three feet tall and plastic, which had come pre-decorated and which he only bought because he felt like such an Ebenzer Scrooge not doing the place up. There were only three gifts beneath it; one was from Sabine, the other two had to be packed for when he went to his son's in two days.

After watching the tree so long that the tinsel and the lights and the green all blurred together and made his eyes sting, Gideon pulled out the gift from Sabine and began to unwrap it before he could stop himself. There was a box beneath the shining paper, and on the box in black marker was a scribbled note:

_Jason,_

_I hope you don't mind, but I noticed the 'from' address on your packages are always the same. When I Googled, it turns out they're from infomercial companies. I never would have thought you an infomercial shopper, but I guess you don't have this yet, otherwise you'd be wearing it when you play chess. Hope it keeps you warm. Merry Christmas._

_B_

Gideon pulled at the thick cardboard until the box opened and out toppled a blue Snuggie. He frowned for a second, puzzled at what it could be, then plucked it from the floor and instantly recognized it. He had not ordered one. He thought the commercial was too ridiculous, especially when they showed a dog wearing it. But now he had one, and slowly pulled it on.

He walked into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror before bursting out laughing. He laughed for so hard and so long that suddenly, it felt like he would never stop. At which point, of course, his laughing did stop and he realized he was not the same man he had been when he'd first begun getting parcels delivered by Sabine. He was much better.

He mustered up his courage, pulled off the Snuggie, returned to his table and replied to Garcia's letter.


	8. Chapter 8

_~~~ This is it guys, the last chapter, and Christmas Eve 2010. I hope you enjoyed this fic and I hope it finds you in the midst of a wonderful holiday. ~~~_

* * *

On Christmas Eve, Gideon was in Pennsylvania with his son and his son's in-laws and his son's wife, and no longer felt like a coward. He'd gone to Garcia's Christmas party, after all.

Hotch was with Jack and Hailey's sister at Hailey's parents house, watching videos of Santa on the NORAD website. Jack pointed to Santa's sled flying through the air, and Hotch had to quickly wipe away a tear before assuring his son that of course the sled would visit heaven, too.

Morgan was in Chicago with his sisters and mother, having caught a flight out the night before. They were caroling with children from the youth centre. Later he would place a Christmas wreath on the grave in the cemetery he always visited.

JJ and Will were teasing Henry that Santa wouldn't come if he didn't get to sleep soon, laughing softly at how seriously their young son took the matter, excited that he was finally old enough to fully understand the concept of Christmas and Santa Claus and reindeer.

Garcia and Kevin were dancing around to Christmas tunes in Garcia's elaborately decorated apartment, where only a couple nights earlier a true Christmas miracle had occurred. The letter from "Santa Claus" had reached Garcia's house that day, and she had pinned it to a corkboard by her phone. It read simply, _You're a Christmas miracle._

Reid was in Las Vegas with his mother, reading to her from one of her favourite novels. But now she stopped him and said, "You seem different, Spencer."

"Different how?" Reid asked.

"Happier," she answered, "More at ease. Did you meet a girl?"

"No, Mom," Reid snorted, "I did not meet a girl."

"Good." replied Diana Reid, "She wouldn't have been good enough for you, anyway."

Reid didn't respond. He was about to go back to reading, but thought better of it. He remembered how much his mom liked to hear about him and his friends.

"Gideon came back," he said.

"Did he?" she asked, in a most unsurprised tone, "I knew it would only be a matter of time. No man can run away forever. Except your father, of course."

Reid rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and his mother grinned, "I love you, you know, Spencer."

"I know Mom," Reid answered, "I love you too. Merry Christmas."

His mother laughed, "It won't be Christmas for another six months," she told him without hesitation.

Reid smiled and went back to reading to her. His head was full of Christmas. He thought the feeling might last another six months, when his mother was apparently planning on celebrating it. Gideon had come to Garcia's. He'd broughtgifts for them all. He'd cooed over Henry, sung along to the Christmas songs Garcia had playing, quietly consoled Hotch about Hailey, discreetly (and indirectly) asked Reid whether he'd kicked the habit, and beamed when he'd said yes. He had not been the Gideon the team remembered. He was a Gideon who walked much more lightly, who didn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And he'd promised he wouldn't hide from them anymore. He'd said he missed them.

When Reid reached the end of the chapter, he excused himself for a second. "I just need the bathroom, Mom," he said. They were in the common lounge and so he stood up, heading towards the exit and the hallway to where he knew the bathrooms were.

But as he went to leave, he bumped into a girl.

"Sorry," he said, looking down to notice that she was the cute barista from Starbucks who had offered him a peppermint latte. His cheeks reddened.

"Hey," she said, "I remember you. You were the candy cane guy, back in DC. What are the chances?"

"One in a million." Reid replied. He was pretty sure it was an accurate statistic.

"My dad's here," she explained briefly, "I grew up in Vegas."

"Same." Reid told her.

"Well then," she grinned, "I guess that means we can break it."

"Break what?" he asked, his voice rising a bit higher.

"The 'what happens in Vegas' thing," she replied, "Because we're both natives. So we don't really have to follow it. And I'd love if we could take this back to DC with us."

"Take what?" his voice was even higher than before. But she just grinned.

"Look up," she whispered, "We've been caught under the mistletoe…" then she moved closer, and Reid believed that Christmas miracles, and happy endings, and good in the world, really did exist.

And he knew Gideon believed it too.

**_Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind. ~ Mary Ellen Chase_**


End file.
